


let's talk about spaceships (or anything except you and me)

by coat



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (or is it), Alternate Universe - High School, Competition, F/F, First Meetings, High School, Mistaken Identity, Volleyball, clarke slaps that ass, its an accident
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:08:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coat/pseuds/coat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the first day of her senior year at Ark High, Clarke Griffin mistakes an (extremely hot) stranger for Octavia.</p><p>Or: The 100 High School!au starring Clarke Griffin, Student Body President; seemingly detached new girl Lexa; Bellamy Blake the women-respecting history nerd; volleyball star Octavia, and badass car-loving Raven Reyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. oh my god, look at that face (you look like my next mistake)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Let's Talk About Spaceships" by Say Hi 
> 
> I don't own the show or characters!
> 
> This is my first time writing fan fiction, hope you enjoy (there will be more to come)

As Clarke steps into Ark High School for the first time after summer vacation, the crisp September wind sends a flurry of auburn leaves about her feet. The hallway sheds a faint florescent hue over the masses of students gathered. Last week, while camping with her friends as a last ‘hurrah’ of summer, Clarke had (drunkenly) yelled that senior year would be _their_ year. But now, the scent of cleaning chemicals filling her nose, she didn't see a single familiar face. A flash of elaborate russet braids catches her eye, and Clarke grins to herself. She knows only one person who has that much patience with their hair - Octavia, one of her closest friends.

Clarke dashes forward, dodging backpacks and reunited students, until she is right behind Octavia. Without a pause, Clarke reaches forward and her hand collides with the girls ass - and holy shit, that is **_not_** Octavia.

The figure standing before her reacts to the attack in a fluid motion: seriously, was the girl a black belt, because in half a second Clarke’s back collided with the locker and she let out a surprised yelp. Pale green-grey eyes, feline-like, gaze down at her sharply. Clarke’s lips may have parted, just a bit - this girl was seriously attractive, and the fact her face was inches away didn't help either. Her cheeks flamed red with embarrassment, but Clarke was not about to let herself get cornered, not by anyone (including hot mystery ladies). She lifted her hands in surrender, trying to put some distance between herself and the girls’ lips.

“Shit, sorry, I thought you were my friend,” Clarke let out a light laugh.

Oh, she’d done it now. The other girl cocked her head, eyes still narrowed in consideration. It was not a mean look, but it was ferocious; maybe if she were someone else, she would've quaked under the state. But she was Clarke Griffin; she didn't surrender to anybody.

“I see. Thank you for your apology,” her voice was low and solemn.

She spoke to Clarke formally, nothing like the colloquial conversations classmates usually engaged in. Clarke was about to respond, ask for her name - her mouth opened, but before she can speak, a shriek sounds close to her ear. Octavia jumps onto her friend in joy, with Bellamy following close behind. He smirks at Clarke, tossing a “hey, princess,” in her direction.

Clarke laughs, hugging O back, but quickly looks over her head for the nameless girl. To her disappointment, but not total surprise, she had disappeared into the crowd. Clarke lets her friends pull her away (off to find Monty and Jasper, no doubt) but a part of her mind lingers on the girls’ persistent eyes and detached mannerism. She was a puzzle, alright - but Clarke was determined to figure her out, and once her mind was set, nothing could get in the way.


	2. wait a minute (get'cha head in the game)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later, if asked, Clarke would relentlessly swear she was 100% focused on practicing her layup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from High School Musicals "Get'cha Head in the Game" :)
> 
> I'm having so much fun writing this.

Clarke has Mrs. Byrne for P.E. this year ( _why, oh why, were they forced to take yet another year of gym?_ ). While she had never personally been her student, the teacher was quite a local legend; she had been a major in the U.S. military before moving back to her hometown and was an all-around badass, I’m-taking-none-of-your-shit women. Clarke could respect that, but she would have appreciated a free period to start deciphering her Calculus textbook (all she knew on the subject was ‘ _the limit does not exist_ ’; thanks, Mean Girls).

The new girl - Lexa, Clarke was told - had been turning heads all day. When you went to a small school like Ark, everyone knows everybody else. She walked with an air that demanded respect, and not a single person messed with her. Lexa could've easily been accepted into one of the popular cliques, but she seemed content to engage in minimal interaction. Clarke was, admittedly, intrigued by this.

Lexa was in her gym class, sitting slightly apart from the main group. There had been a moment of awkward eye contact in the hallway earlier, but Clarke didn't look away despite Lexa’s raised eyebrows. She wasn't sure how to approach Lexa. I mean, she couldn't go up to her and say “hey, sorry for slapping your butt during your first 5 minutes at this school, but I hope you find your classrooms ok!”

The blonde girl dribbles the basketball for a few seconds before passing to Monty. The boy lunges forward, hands extended, but the ball clumsy bounces from his fingers.

“Try using both hands next time,” she jokes while retrieving it for him.

Monty could probably hack the presidents computer, but his sport skills had always been lacking. Clarke remembered, quite distinctly, a time in second grade when Monty had scored not one, but two goals for the rival team. John Murphy had quietly teased him for days, until Clarke overhead a particularly rude comment during ‘quiet reading time’ and all hell broke lose. Not much reading took place that day. Murphy’s back was sore after Clarke had pushed him and he fell onto some legos, and they sat silently in the office while parents were called. The principal shared an exasperated, low-voiced conversation with her mother; Clarke was at the top of her grade; a spirited, competitive and fiercely loyal young student. Later that night, her father gave Clarke a high five for “standing up for what you believe him, just don't tell mom” but warned “you don't always have to physically punch people to get your way”.

To this day, Clarke has never told her mother - it was their secret, and she cherished it.

Using her heel to stop the rolling ball, Clarke does not slip at glance at Lexa. She definitely doesn't see the ball swish through the hoop, or Mrs. Byrne’s approving smile. Clarke glances around, pushing back the golden curls obstructing her vision - everyone else was bumbling all over the place, half-heartedly passing to friends. Lexa alone dominates the court, completely focused on her task.

“Will you stop staring at her for just a second, Clarke?”

She spins around, narrowing her eyes at the boy: “I don't know what your talking about.”

_Shit, was it that obvious?_

Monty smirks, disbelief evident on his features, but he starts rambling about ‘Civil Disobedience’ again, the current reading assignment for AP English. To Clarke’s relief he lets the matter drop without further hassle. If anyone else caught her eyeing the new girl, Clarke would never hear the end of it. But Monty understood, somehow, that this wasn't a teasing topic. He was a junior, a year younger than Clarke, but that had never hindered their friendship. 

Later, if asked, Clarke would relentlessly swear she was 100% focused on practicing her layup. She would promise that, when tossed the ball, she hadn't been considering intense green-grey eyes with dark eyeliner or pink lips quirked in a rare, rare smile. If questioned, Monty would burst into laughter for the next 10 minutes (which he does, on numerous occasions). But Clarke, if asked, would make it her sole duty to convince you she was not distracted by well-defined biceps the moment she threw a basketball right at Lexa’s head.


	3. cutting grass for gasoline (so I can see you soon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Seriously, Reyes, stop tinkering with that hunk of junk or I’ll end you.”

 Lexa doesn't flinch when the basketball collides with the back of her head. _Father would be proud,_ she thinks dryly. It was hard, living with a single Military dad, for he often treated her like one of his soldiers. 

It had been a long time since anyone messed with Lexa, even though students always liked to “test the water” with new kids, scouting for potential bullying targets. Really, Lexa moves around so much that she doesn't even bother getting to know her classmates. She no longer cares (or believes) when her father tells her they are setting at yet another town. It wasn't like Lexa had anything to stay and fight for. Ark High didn't seem any different.

Except for one key reason - but Lexa could ignore her curiosity. She’s good at that, closing herself off from the world. It was lonley, yes, but it worked. Students usually never bothered her, scared off by the hostility.  _Except for Costia,_ speaks a small part of her, but she pushes the unwanted thought away.

Lexa wonders why she isn't surprised as a familiar blonde jogs towards her, cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

“Shit, Lexa I’m so sorry! I guess I wan’t paying attention -"

“I am fine Clarke, really. Don’t be alarmed,” Lexa cut her off. She wanted, _needed_ , Clarke to stop looking at her like that; concern, but not uncertainty. Lexa had just met the girl and already she wanted to smile, make her laugh. That wasn't a good sign - she couldn't afford to lose focus. And besides, it would only end in pain. Nothing was worth the risk.

“Seriously, I can take you to the nurse, just let me see, there might be a visible bump -”

Lexa startles as hands skim over her head. From the look of Clarke’s face, she is also surprised. Clarke was going on about how her mom was a doctor, but Lexa was doing anything in her power not to lean into Clarke’s soft hands running over her hair. _Don't be stupid,_ she chastises herself. She could write a book on all the reasons befriending Clarke was a bad idea. 

“Do not worry, it takes more then that to kill me,” she replied softly, aiming for lighthearted. Clarke pauses for a heartbeat before her face breaks into a grin. Lexa ignores the way her heart clenches and instead gives the other girl a small smile.

“Well, I hope so,” she offers. Then, her eyes narrows in thought and she tilts her head.

“Hey, Lexa, you wanna join me and Monty?”

Lexa wants to say no. She is going to say _'no, thank you for the offer',_ but thats not exactly how it comes out.

“It would be my pleasure.”

She is so screwed.

They fall into a routine. Clarke smiles when she sees Lexa in the hallway, or in any of their shared classes. Lexa nods her head in response. After the first basketball game, she plays sports with Monty and Clarke daily in P.E. Sometimes, Monty gives them a strange expression which she can’t decipher. While Clarke asks Lexa to hangout with her friend group constantly, Lexa always declines. She can’t afford to get entangled. In gym class, an alliance (“Don’t call your friends ‘alliances’, Lexa - what are you, a medieval queen?” “Shut up, Costia.”) is beneficial. Lexa tries to convince herself it has nothing to do with blonde curls and eyes like the summer sky.

Clarke is friends with practically everyone, or so it seems - she is the Student Body President, and people are always jumping on her or bumping shoulders (Lexa doesn't care how many people get to touch Clarke, not at all). Lexa hears rumors of her renowned parties, as well as a particularly graphic description of her taking body shots, and decides to ask.

“I have heard you throw parties that outdo Jay Gatsby.”

Clarke’s pencil stills over her calculus homework, looking up with bright eyes, “Fitzgerald, what a guy. I wouldn't say comparable to his, but yes, sometimes when my mom’s out of town, I’ll invite some friends over.”

As Clarke is friends with practically all of Ark High, she guesses the parties are anything but tame. This intrigues Lexa, because Clarke had a strictly ‘good girl’ facade at school with teachers. Lexa does not mention how inevitable yet accurate the love between Jay and Daisy is, because she feels the moment for 'The Great Gatsby' has passed. She merely nods at Clarke, content to let the topic drop.

* * *

 

“Seriously, Reyes, stop tinkering with that hunk of junk or I’ll end you.”

Raven slides out from underneath the old car to glare at Clarke.

“Griffin, if you say ‘hunk of junk’ one more time _I_ will end _you_ ,” Raven retorts, struggling to keep the smile off her face.

Class let out not 10 minutes ago, and already the campus is barren. Wells had offered her a ride home, but as much as Clarke loved him, she always felt uncomfortable when Mr. Jaha (Well’s dad, and the principal of Ark High) drove her home in middle school.

Every day since the school year began, Raven drove Clarke home and picked her up before school. Scarlett was Raven’s ‘baby’, an old red Ford truck that she had singlehandedly repaired over the summer. Every time she gets in the cab, Clarke mutters something about ‘environmental disaster’, but Raven just rolls her eyes. As much as Clarke grumbled about Raven’s obsession with cars, she really didn't mind. She usually waited an extra 20 minutes for Raven to finish up whatever project she was working on in auto shop. The clink of machinery and rattling of drills were familiar, and Clarke could always take a nap in the truck bed. Her friend was a skilled mechanic, and she also worked at a nearby auto repair shop.

Raven crawls out from below the car and wipes grease on her jeans.

"Don't wipe that on your pants, who knows what kind of chemicals are in that. And it looks gross."

“Right, because you are such a fashionista,” Raven retorts. She reaches around to find a rag - not that she will ever admit defeat in an argument with Clarke. 

Clarke snorts indignantly; maybe she’s worn these jeans so often that holes appeared at the knees, but Raven literally had gasoline smears over her clothes.

“It’s vintage, Raven. It’s all the rage these days.”

Raven’s raises an eyebrow. Clarke throws a rag at her head.

“Whatever you say, princess,” she drawls, climbing into the her truck. Clarke can’t help smiling as she follows suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from "Dandelion Wine" by Gregory Alan Isakov
> 
> Thank you for all the amazing feedback!


	4. and history books forgot about us (and the bible didn't mention us)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy pauses to take a breath before continuing, “I mean, you can’t just take down everyone you dislike.”
> 
> Lexa raises an eyebrow, “Actually, yes, you can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title song from "Samson" by Regina Spektor!

As soon as the classroom door slams shut, Lexa whirls towards Bellamy.

“There is a clear historical trend of Soviet aggression, starting in the 1930’s and extending well into the Cold War.”

It was all Mr. Kane’s fault, really, for having an impromptu debate in AP U.S. History. The topic is _“Did President Truman cause the Cold War?”_ Lexa has been assigned the con side, and Bellamy the pro. Neither are accustomed to losing, so the competition grows quickly. Lexa had met the shaggy haired, freckle-faced boy on the first day of school: he is a close friend of Clarke. Not that Lexa thought about Clarke at all, or her friends. Because that would be trivial and such a waste. In the classroom, every other voice fades until they are the only ones shooting arguments back and forth, rapid-fire. Finally, Mr. Kane cuts in. But no one can stop them now, not even him. Even back in their seats, Bellamy gestures wildly across the room at Lexa, eyes glinting at the challenge. No one focuses on the lecture, instead turing their attention to Ark High’s resident “history buff” and the new girl, who continuously surprises everyone with in-depth knowledge. How can they expect to stop in the middle of a debate, with nothing resolved? Finally, Kane snaps, telling them both to “get the hell out” until they learn to be “mature almost-adults”.

Bellamy doesn’t miss a beat before counter-arguing her point. Though he stands rigidly before her in the hallway, he clearly is at ease with debating.

“Bullshit, the asshole fired that one guy, Henry Wallace, after he said a militaristic stance toward the Soviet Union would be counterproductive. I mean, a president shouldn't ignore questions about his choices, especially with something like atomic policies.”

Bellamy pauses to take a breath before continuing, “I mean, you can’t just take down everyone you dislike.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow, “Actually, yes, you can.”

Bellamy gives her a strange look, “Maybe for you, Lexa, but not for most people. Besides, he had a shit personality.”

“Personality?” Lexa scoffs. “Personalities don’t lead to war, Bellamy. All leaders must make difficult decisions, and besides, personality is constantly changing. Truman was under a plethora of stress after the war.”

“Stressed? More like ridiculously paranoid. Truman would do anything to give the appearance of control. excessive fears, wanted to give appearance of in control. He was a terrible leader.”

“Truman had been vice president only eighty-two days before Roosevelt died. He was thrown into leadership. Besides, the Soviets had been anti-Western for decades. Need I remind you of their takeover of numerous surrounding countries and rejection of the Marshall Plan money?”

Bellamy starts to speak, but his voice is drowned by the bell signaling the end of class. Both students glance at each other, surprised that class went by so quickly. Doors throughout the hallway open and students spill out, milling around the hallway. Lexa nods in Bellamy’s direction, a gesture which he returns. It feels inadequate to end such an intense conversation so lightly, but Lexa has nothing else to say. She walks to the library to peacefully spend her lunch break.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Lexa to notice two very important things. One, Clarke is intriguing, and two, she is absolute shit at art.

Lexa hates whoever makes these stupid requirement rules. She needs another art elective to graduate high school, and nothing is going to keep her from the diploma. Well, nothing except for a stupid paintbrush. The class would have been bearable if it were just Lexa and other stick-figure drawing students forced to take the class. But no, of course not - fate has never turned out that way for Lexa. The class is organized by grade, not skill level. Of course, in a stroke of irony, Clarke is also in her class. Lexa just laughs when she finds out Clarke is an artistic goddess, because of _course_ she is. It’s as if Lexa’s life is a sitcom.

Class hasn't officially started yet. Lexa sits near the front of the room, but she hears Clarke’s laughter a few rows back. She resists the urge to turn around, but it’s painful. Lexa growls at her lack of inner control and stares pointedly at the blank canvas in front of her. _She’s just another girl, she probably doesn’t even remember your name,_ she tells herself shortly. _End of story._ The teacher walks in, already addressing the class in his booming voice.

“Draw a mystery,” he exclaims, sweeping his arms. His name is Jackson (sans formal title, because it gives “a better student-teacher bond”) and he reminds Lexa of a stereotypical new age artist. His sleeves are every so slightly rolled up, reveling elaborate tattoos on his forearms. Lexa assumes his back is also covered in ink, and he spends his free time drinking black coffee while looking mournfully out of coffeeshop windows on a rainy day. He probably also writes sad, mediocre poetry that’s filled with middle-school-level angst. Clearly, Lexa has too much time on her hands in this class if she manages to think of an entire backstory for her teacher.

Lexa tunes back in just as Jackson is wrapping up the speech.

“Pick a puzzle, something that you can’t figure out no matter how hard you try. You may use any medium available that you feel will best represent what you are trying to figure out, and why.”

* * *

 Art is the only class Clarke can truly relax in - at least, it used to be. For some reason, ever since Lexa joined, Clarke has had the hardest time focusing. Her eyes wander to the front of the room, where the tall brunette sits rigidly before the canvas. She holds the paintbrush like a weapon and jabs the paper in jerky movements, brow furrowed in concentration. Clarke can’t help but grin at how obviously lost Lexa is in the situation. The canvas is smeared with green and red and blue, all muddled together, absolutely indistinguishable, and all of a sudden, Clarke knows exactly what to do for the assignment. She starts to paint.

Clarke has always brushed off comments on how her art 'captures a person’s essence'. Now, she sees it, in the worst way possible. She had become so absorbed in the painting that she doesn’t realize what was forming on the canvas until its far too late. Unbeknownst to Clarke, the painting had turned into Lexa eyes, steadily watching her with a calculated state, and a small smile playing on her lips. _It’s too realistic, too obviously her_ , Clarke curses herself. The picks up the paintbrush again, intent on smearing the painting out of recognition. Of course, it is this moment that Octavia chooses to waltz over. There's a dab of purple paint on her nose. Her eyebrows raise at the picture, and a slow smile spreads across her face. 

“You know Clarke, that reminds me a lot of someone I know..”

The blonde snorts, but doesn’t completely deny it - really, what is there to deny? The drawing is clear as day.

"Shut up, O. It's not what it looks like."

Clarke makes sure to hide her painting in the very corner of the room; she’ll pick it up after school, when no one else is around to see it. 

* * *

 Clarke hates being at school without other students around. It’s creepy, the deserted hallways and classrooms. How can something so full become so empty, so quickly? Like a classroom, or a heart. Her footsteps echo loudly on the hallway floor and she wishes someone were beside her. Clarke’s thoughts may have wandered slightly to familiar dark braided hair and sharp eyes, but she would never admit it.

The empty, extensive halls scare her to no end. However, the moment she trips on nothing, Clarke’s first thought is, “I’m so glad no one’s around to witness this”.

Her knee slams onto the tile and she lets out a yelp of pain, knowing it’ll be bruised by morning. Clarke’s belongings scatter. Her textbook crashes into a locker with a clang, and her canvas for art skids several feet, facedown. She hears footsteps behind her, before they pause - and then a very familiar voice, tinged with worry.

“Clarke? Are you alright?”

Lexa gazes down at her, sitting casually on the floor amid a disarray of haphazard objects. Clarke wonders what Lexa must think of her. But her face shows nothing but soft concern as she reaches a hand down for Clarke to pull herself up. She takes it, gratefully. Lexa’s hand is dry and soft between Clarke’s, and her fingers are much longer. Pianist’s fingers, her father would call them. The sudden memory knocks her breath out, and she struggles to remain composed for half a second. Clarke realizes she held on a few seconds more than normal, and drops Lexa’s hand instantly.

“Thanks.”

“It’s nothing. Let me get that,” she gestured at the canvas, still facedown, several feet away. Clarke forgets what that painting is of until Lexa has already picked it up - and by then, it’s too late. Clarke stills, and Lexa, turning the canvas over, also freezes. Clarke hears a horn blaring outside in the parking lot. Clarke is already prepared to defend her honor ("It's not what it looks like, I'm sorry, I had no idea..."). 

When Lexa looks up, her face is smooth and unreadable. “You draw well,” she states.

Clarke hesitates, wondering if she should explain herself. At that moment, a loud honk comes from the street, followed by a loud, unforgettable voice.

“Griffin, get your ass over here! I need to drop you off.” Clarke rolls her eyes at Raven’s antics, and can perfectly picture her ‘not-amused’ expression while leaning out the car window. She looks over at Lexa, who awkwardly stands next to her at a loss for words. Before Clarke knows what she’s doing, she’s talking.

“Do you need a ride home?” Lexa looks startled, but quickly recovers. She wonders if the surprise is because she doesn’t want to be in the car with Lexa - a terrible thought that she tries (and fails) to destroy. Lexa merly shakes her head.

“Thank you for the offer, but no thank you. I don’t live far.”

“Suit yourself. I gotta run, sorry,” Clarke shrugs, pushing away the feeling of disappointment rising within her. She aims for nonchalant, but doubts that’s the attitude achieved. Lexa seems to understand her aim, and nods back.

“That’s alright. I’ll see you later?” her voice is soft and low, but powerful. Clarke almost has to lean in to hear it, yet there is no doubt in her speech. Lexa smells like cinnamon and spices. She does her best to ignore the fluttering in her stomach.

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow!” With that, Clarke spins around and jogs for the door, painfully aware of Lexa’s eyes on her until she disappears from view.


	5. Chapter 5

Lexa walks along the side of the road, arms curled around her chest and rain battering her backside. The bus had been delayed, and in a regrettable spur-of-the-moment decision, Lexa decided to walk the several miles home. She was almost halfway, too late to turn back, when the rain started. Calling it “rain” would be an understatement - this is a full out storm, and Lexa doesn’t even have a jacket. She can’t see more than a few feet ahead of her and the wind whips her hair over her eyes.

With nothing else to occupy her mind, Lexa’s thoughts drift to Clarke. After the girl hurried away, she remained in the hallway for a few minutes, processing what had happened. When she initially saw the painting, she assumed it was some sort of mistake - why else would it bear resemblance to Lexa? She had ignored it; but now, curiosity takes over. She couldn't think of any reason why Clarke would draw her. Mr. Jackson had told them to draw a mystery - was _she_ the mystery? That didn’t seem right. Lexa does not need this right now; she’s almost done with high school, and wasting time with trivial things is stupid. Like watching Clarke hold pencils in her mouth during art class. She needs to get this year over with and move on with her life. End of story, end of Clarke. So simple.

Until she hears the roar of an approaching car and a voice sounds nearby, raised loud over the howling wind.

“Hey - you need a ride?”

Lexa stops walking and turns, squinting into the fog. She can dimly make out two yellow beams of light and the dark shadow of a car. A figure leans out of the driver side window, but Lexa can’t make out who it is. She steps into the headlights, and the driver gasps.

“Holy shit, Lexa?”

 _Could this day get any worse,_ Lexa thinks dryly. Of _course_ it’s her.

“Hello, Clarke,” she strives for casual, but as the rain lashes her bare arms and she shivers, she doubts she pulls it off.

“What - Ok, just get in, we’ll talk in the car.”

“No,” Lexa doesn’t know why she denies. She’s freezing, but a part of her doesn’t want Clarke to see her like this. And now that she’s made up her mind, she can’t change.

_Nice going, ace._

“What do you mean, no? You’re wearing a t-shirt in a literal storm.”

“I’m fine. I’m almost home, anyway.”

“You are so full of shit.” Lexa signs, starting to walk again. The car - a sleek new Lexus, she notes - crawls beside her.

“Clarke. Keep driving. I’m perfectly fine.”

A flash of lightning strikes through the air. It hits a sapling, not 20 feet ahead of Lexa. The entire tree is ripped from the ground and explodes into pieces. Splinters fly everywhere, showering her in sawdust. Lexa jumps in fear, heart pounding in her ears. If she tree had been any bigger - she didn’t want to consider it

“Lexa…” Clarke’s voice is strained. She doesn’t need to be asked twice.

Lexa slams the car door behind her, and both breathe heavily in the silence. 

“You stupid idiot. You could've gotten yourself killed!” 

The alarm is slowly fading, and her own anger flares up in response to Clarke’s outburst. She doesn’t understand why the girl keeps looking at her like that, eyes blazing.

“Why do you care so much?” Lexa bites back.

“You’re unbelievable. Of course I’d care!”

She turns away from Clarke, looking pointedly at the dashboard. She feels the blonde eyeing her for a moment longer before they start driving. Lexa does not back down. She’s never submitted, not to anyone, in her entire life. She fights, she takes, she conquers. But in walks Clarke, burning down her barriers, and Lexa doesn’t want to dwell on the meaning of that. The girl is inches away, impossible to ignore. She looks furious, her spirit bright. Clarke is fireworks and everything Lexa longs for but could never let herself have.

She realizes, all too late, that they are not anywhere near her house. They're driving through one of the wealthier neighborhoods; definitely not Lexa’s street.

“I think we passed my house.”

“We’re not going to your house, Lexa. My house is right here - we can’t drive in this weather, and you need to change immediately so you don't get pneumonia”

“You sound like a doctor,” Lexa’s heart pounds but she tries to ignore it. She really needs to stop feeling so nervous around Clarke.

“That’s my mom wearing off on me. Come on,” she pulls into a driveway of an impressive looking house and immediately hops out of the car. Lexa follows suit.

* * *

 

Lexa is practically naked in front of her and Clarke is trying very hard to think straight. She had ordered the girl to change out of wet clothes, but now she almost regrets it. Almost. Her mind feels sluggish because Lexa is standing right next to her, no shirt nor pants. Clarke can see the goosebumps pricking on her arms. Ever since Lexa got in the car, she hasn’t stopped shaking. Clarke had been terrified; Lexa could’ve died, right in front of her. She expressed her worry as anger by yelling, but the girl retaliated right back. It was infuriating. Clarke wouldn’t exactly call it a crush, but there is no denying Lexa’s attractiveness.

She has no idea _why_ or _how_ Lexa has such defined abs but the girl is watching her, eyebrow raised, and waiting for a reply. _Shit_. Clarke is sure her face is blotched and bright red.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, can I please borrow some pants?” she gestures at her bare legs.

 _Oh, right._ Who they hell is responsible for granting Lexa goddess-worthy thighs?

“Yeah! I’ll just -“ she motions at the closet, smacking her hand into the door. _Ouch._

“Are you alright, Clarke?”

The voice is gentle and far, far too close, because Clarke’s gaze only comes up to Lexa’s collarbone and there is so much bare skin in front of her eyes. The girl watches her with green-grey eyes and Clarke could get lost in them. She turns quickly, grabbing the first shirt and sweatpants she finds, and thrusting them in front of her.

“I’m all good! Here, I’ll be downstairs. Join me when you’re done.” She dives around Lexa and practically jogs towards the door, ignoring the stare boring into her back.

If she stayed a moment longer she would’ve felt compelled to reach out and trace the curve of Lexa’s lips. Somehow, she knew that wouldn’t end well.

Clarke is almost done boiling a pot of milk when Lexa pads down the stairs. She looks incredibly domestic and casual in Ark High sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, so different from her typical semi-formal outfits. She slides into a barstool opposite the stove, propping her face with her hands. Her phone rings (again) and Clarke smirks, scrolling through the influx of texts.

“Are you going to get that?” Lexa asks. She points to the phone, which is still ringing in Clarke’s hand.

“Naw, they can wait. Do you want hot chocolate?”

Lexa smiles slightly, and Clarke’s heart lurches.

* * *

 

It’s Thursday, several days after the Lexa-rain fiasco; Clarke walks out of the crowded hallway, head whirling with everything she has to do tonight. She smiles in greeting as she arrives at the lunch spot, dropping her loaded backpack next to Jasper. He winches in sympathy at the heavy thump before returning his attention to Raven.

“Anyway, about the chemical properties of sodium-”

Clarke had not stopped laughing when she learned Raven and Jasper were paired together in Chemistry class - really, Clarke thinks the entire science department is in danger of blowing up. Both of her friends were avid science geeks, and they frequently go off on long tangents, using specific jargon that sounds like another language. Clarke zones out, leaning against the tree trunk and staring up at the leaves above. It’s beautiful, a vivid green canopy. Her fingers itch for pencils and paper, but she’s far too lazy to open her backpack.

“Earth to princess, you in there?”

She startles awake, blinking, and mutters a slurred “Yes’m here” before focusing her gaze on the boy leaning in front of her. Bellamy’s face is close to hers, eyes twinkling in excitement. She groans and closes her eyes again, hoping to catch another second of sleep.

“…that new girl, Lexa.”

He now has her undivided attention.

“Wait, hold on, what about Lexa?”

“I said, we were debating in history a few days ago. She’s good, really good. I’m gonna ask her to join the debate team.”

Clarke laughs. “Go ahead and try. She’s not much of a people person”

“Holy shit, so I just met the new volleyball assistant,” Octavia announces, joining the group. She sprawls forward on her stomach, blinking up at Clarke with doe eyes.

“Hmmm? Do tell,” Clarke asks, taking a bite of her apple. She already knows where this will lead.

Bellamy beats her too it. “Yeah, do tell. You only get that voice for one thing,” his eyes narrow slightly, protective brother instincts taking over.

“His name’s Lincoln. He’s, like, Indra’s nephew or something. Holy shit, Clarke, you should’ve seen him,” she pauses. “If you’re not still drawing portraits of-“

Clarke lunges at Octavia, clasping a hand over the other girls’ mouth. She would rather not have anyone hear about her interest in Lexa - she’s not even sure if it’s a crush. Octavia grins wickedly, and Clarke feels a warm tongue on her hand.

“Did you just LICK me? You’re disgusting, O!” She pulls back immediately, wiping her wet palm on the grass.

Her friend only laughs. The others hardly spare them a glance, completely used to the frequent bickering.

“Hey, are you coming tonight?’"

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Clarke grins, playfully knocking shoulders with Octavia.

* * *

 

Tonight is Octavia’s first volleyball game of the season. O’s parents have never attended any sports event of hers, but she has Bellamy, and that is always enough. The bond between Octavia and Bellamy Blake is unspoken, yet everyone knows the Blake siblings come first to each other. Bellamy has raised Octavia in their parents absence since he was a child. Clarke always tries to attend as many sports games as possible, recruiting all their friends and drawing ridiculous posters to hold in the stands. She aims to embarrass her friend, but secretly, Octavia loves how they put an effort to come.

Clarke and Raven wait in her truck outside of the Blake household. Raven sings along to ‘Dancing Queen’ as she digs around in her CD case, looking for Octavia’s favorite playlist.

A few years ago, Raven realized the best way to combat Octavia’s pre-game nerves was singing. Particularly, singing very loudly to extremely movie soundtracks. Before her next game, Raven showed up with several mixed CD’s with everything from Hairspray to The Lion King. Octavia had never looked happier than that moment, and since, it has been a tradition to blast her songs while driving to a tournament.

Clarke leans back and, shooting a sly glance at Raven, props her floral high tops on the dashboard.

“Get your stinky feet off my car, Griffin,” she growls without looking up.

“What do you mean, I washed them last week.” Clarke expects a playful jab in reply, so when she doesn't receive one, she glances up. Raven is leaning forward, squinting at something beyond the windshield.

“Hey, isn't that the new girl?” Clarke sits up so fast her head nearly smacks the car roof. It _was_ ; Lexa was walking up the steps to the house neighboring the Blakes’. Clarke hadn’t taken her home after the rain incident; her father had been driving home from work, and stopped by to pick her up.

“Lexa lives here and they didn't tell me!”

At that moment, Bellamy races out his front door, eyes narrowed mischievously. In half a second Octavia joins him, leaping from the porch onto his shoulders. The way his legs instantly bend to brace for impact, and how his arms tug her feet to make sure she’s secure, convince Clarke that Bellamy was, and is, everything to O.

“Bell, seriously, give me back my ribbon!” Octavia yelps, lurching forward. Her brother holds it just out of reach.

“No way, little sister. You shouldn't have eaten the last bowl of fruitloops.”

Raven honks the horn, startling the Blakes' from their game of chase. Octavia ruffles Bellamy’s hair as he hands her the ribbon, and they start towards the car. Raven turns the ignition and Scarlett rumbles to life beneath them.

Raven sighs and glances over at Clarke, who’s eyes haven't left the place she last say Lexa.

“Go ahead.”

Clarke turns back to her friend, brow scrunched in confusion.

“Clarke, I love you, but you’re hopeless. And not subtle at all. Do I really have to spell it out for you? Ask the girl to come with us. I know you want to.”

Clarke literally feels her jaw drop. She really didn’t think it was that obvious, but apparently so. Then again, nothing much slips past Raven Reyes.

“Really, Raven, I appreciate it but we don’t have to, there’s not even room.”

Her friend turns around, ponytail swishing in Clarke’s face, and points to the back of the truck.

“Come on, Griffin, get creative. She can sit on your lap,” she replies with a smirk and exaggerated wink.

She rolls her eyes, cheeks slightly flushed. “I really need new friends. Just keep it PG when she gets her, alright? Anyway, she might be busy.”

Clarke opens the car door just as Bellamy and Octavia arrive. She walks past them briskly, leaving Raven to explain the situation.

Lexa’s house looks nearly identical to Bellamy’s townhouse, except her’s is pale blue. Clarke grins at a sudden flashback, Bellamy indignantly claiming their house was “peach colored” and Octavia telling him, “Don’t be so pretentious, it’s fucking pink”. Raven had been trying to sleep, covering her head with a pillow, and shouted at them: “You assholes, it’s 3 in the fucking morning.” Clarke and Monty laughed for approximately another hour.

Clarke knocks on the door. She hears a chime from inside the house, followed by the dull thump of footsteps.

Before the door even opens, Lexa is speaking, “If your here trying to sell something, your wasting your time-“

Lexa, sans makeup, swings open the door. Her eyes open wide and Clarke grins, enjoying the surprise on her face.

“Hello, Lexa”

“What do you think you’re doing, Clarke,” Lexa asks, but the words are less of a question than she is aiming for.

“Kidnapping you,” replies the shorter girl. “Come on, it’s time you learn the best Ark High has to offer.”

Lexa steps back, her posturing returning. She is already on the defensive, a guarded look appearing in her eyes. “I would prefer not to.”

“Don’t you dare quote ‘Bartleby, the Scrivener’ at me. This is a crucial part of your high school education. We take volleyball very seriously.”

Lexa draws herself taller, eyes narrowing. “Clarke. No. Also, how do you know where I live?”

“Lexa, yes. And it is a mystery,” she steps closer, lifting her chin to maintain eye contact.

Clarke’s not taking no for an answer. Lexa’s jaw twitches and she sighs. The blonde grins, knowing she’s won.

* * *

 Lexa has no idea how she ends up, minutes later, sitting on Clarke Griffin’s lap as they bounce over the road.

Currently, Grease’s “Summer Lovin” was blasting from the car. Lexa knew Clarke and Bellamy, but the other two were a mystery. Raven owns the truck and Clarke describes her as the “sassiest most beautiful sunfish”. Octavia is Bellamy’s little sister, and she’s full of fire. Lexa sees how she and Clarke are friends.

She listens in wonder as each person in the vehicle immediately knows which part to sing. It’s as if they have everything planned. Lexa smiles just listening to them.

Clarke is singing Sandy’s lines. Her voice is raspy and her breath tickles the back of Lexa’s neck; her mouth is mere centimeters away.

They hit a bump in the road. Lexa feels arms snake around her waist; Clarke has automatically held onto her. She tries not to let on how happy she is when the blonde somehow forgets to drop her hands. Raven flashes a smile back at them.

The gym is packed. Raven finds a parking spot near the back of the lot, and they all pile out of the car. Lexa reluctantly pulls away from Clarke’s arms, trying to shake sense back into herself. The ticket collector looks at them, bored. She blows a bright pink bubble.

“How many?” “Two,” Clarke answers, stepping forward.

“Are you two together?”

Lexa’s brain seizes up and she almost drops her purse. This girl thought they were a thing? Not that she was opposed to that idea, not in the slightest - she just had no idea that’s what it looked like. She glances sideways at Clarke, but the other girl just smiles casually.

“Yes.”

Her brain short-circuits. Clarke hands over several dollar bills and winks at Lexa. “My treat.”

OH. She meant to ask are you _paying_ together. Of course no one suspected that, not in such a heteronormative society. Anyway, its not like Clarke felt the same, so it didn't matter. They find a spot high in the bleachers. Lexa and Clarke end up pressed next to each other. The side of their body that is touching feels electric, but neither can move away. Lexa focuses on her breathing and not on how nice Clarke smells next to her. Each time the blonde says something, she stretches her head up and accidentally brushes her lips against Lexa's temple. Each time, it makes her shiver.

Eventually, lexa feels overcome by excitement and Clarke beside her, warm and laughing. She can’t reach over and touch the girl like she wants to, and it hurts, but maybe it’s for the best. Clarke would just slap her hand away, and everything would be ruined.

“I’m gonna get some air,” she mouths at clarke, pointing to the gym door. She flashes a thumbs up sign in reply before turning back to the game, whooping as Octavia spikes the ball.

The freezing night is a welcome relief from the humid air inside the gym. Lexa takes a moment to just breathe, letting the volleyball noises behind her fade. She can hear crickets up ahead, and slowly walks around. The campus looks almost haunted at night.

In the shadow behind the bleachers, Lexa can faintly make out a silhouette. She stiffens, instantly recalling every self-defense lesson her father had taught her. If it came down to it, she could defend herself.

_Chill out, don’t get freaked out over nothing._

“Lost?”

She scoffs at the figure. “Hardly. Yourself?”

“It’s not called ‘lost’ until you admit it to yourself. I’m simply ‘wandering’ “

“You’re pretentious.”

“And you’re the new kid.”

Lexa watches a lighter burst to life, illuminating a rough-looking kid. His jeans are dark and ripped, and he wears a rugged looking leather jacket. He looks slightly familiar - she may have passed him in the hallway before. She watches as he lights a cigarette, tilting his head back to release the smoke. It curls upward, disappearing into the cold night air.

“That is correct. And you are?”

“John Murphy, at your service,” he bows exaggeratedly. She can barely make out his smirk in the dark.

Lexa did know him - he was in her english class. No one ever called him John, not even the teacher. He sat in the back row, propping his boots on the desk in front of him, and occasionally made sarcastic comments. Though he tried to hide with a careless attitude, Murphy was an extremely gifted writer and his knowledge of literature excelled basically everyone in the class. He was a product of the foster system; his father was locked up somewhere for theft, and his mother had died not long after. Lexa has heard rumors about Murphy’s “bad boy” reputation, but she isn't a fan of judging someone before she personally knows them.

She lingers, curious about the boy whom everyone expects to be a criminal.

“Wanna join?” he extends the cigarette towards her.

“I’d rather not die of lung disease, thanks.”

“Arn’t you an optimistic one.”

“So, you’re a fan of volleyball?” Lexa jerks her head behind them, to the large gym. The whoops and cheers can still be heard.

“Naw, Current foster family has kids - can’t exactly be exhibiting ‘bad behavior’ and smoking around them.”

Lexa finds his regard for children oddly touching, even if the comment is sarcastic. Her opinion of the boy lifts slightly.

“Understandable.”

“And why are you here?” he questions, eyeing her.

“Clarke invited me.”

“Ah. She’s quite the character.” She’s intruiged, and about to ask for more, when a voice startles them.

“Lexa?” The both turn. Clarke stands, illuminated by the gym lights behind her. She looks confused, but when she spots Murphy, her face hardens.

“Murphy’s not not bothering you, is his?”

She is touched, secretly pleased Clarke would care enough about her to ask. Not that she would need any help. Lexa hears the boy beside her snort softly, but when he speaks, his voice is clipped.

“Nothing to worry about. See ya, Lexa,” he nods in her direction before walking off, past the bleachers and out of sight. Clarke watches him go, her mouth pressed in a hard line. “I’d stay away from him, if I were you,” the blonde mutters. Lexa’s not sure if she agrees, but she doesn’t know enough about the boy to argue. Clarke looks almost angry and she doesn’t fully understand _why_. Lexa merle inclines her head before walking back into the gym.


End file.
